by Nick Gisburne
A battlestar should never feel a bump
But something shakes our speeding, silver dart
Electron drives, uncoupled from the jump
Are terminal, impossible to start
A visitor, a predator, a friend?
We throw a thousand questions at the threat
If this is how our odyssey must end
We find no way to fathom it, not yet
We tremble at the truth of what we see:
Infernal fingers clutch and claw the craft
As though they twist a captured, cosmic key
Unlocking space itself, before and aft
A phantom, unlike any felt before
Enslaves our souls, behind Damnation’s door
